


Champagne Paradise

by plaidshirtjimkirk



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hella Feelings, Kondo worships the hell out of his man, M/M, Toshisami, konhiji
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-29
Updated: 2018-03-29
Packaged: 2019-04-14 08:35:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14132256
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plaidshirtjimkirk/pseuds/plaidshirtjimkirk
Summary: Hijikata had a rough patrol. Kondo makes everything okay, at least for a little while.





	Champagne Paradise

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for checking this out!! I felt like writing something heavily emotional and this is what happened. I had [Halo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sGJwjkAWnWs) by Cosmic Gate on repeat for much of the start.
> 
> Much love to [tiprine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiprine) for the initial beta. <3

**.*Champagne Paradise*.**

It’s like the clashing of swords—of steel on steel and the initial spark that sends embers scattering through the darkness… A visceral detonation on the fabric of space, a prick of light fracturing into supernova, an inferno that rips clear across an empty sky… It’s the eruption of raw feeling, the striking of violent waves over idled oceans of life blood, the reigniting of a dampened universe of ashes.

It’s the lungs remembering how to respire and the heart recalling how to beat. The restoration of vitality. The renewal of the tethers and ribbons, the threads and stitches. The rebound to the lowest common denominator, to the sum of just one and one.

It’s forming an unbreakable bond, with hands pressed palm to palm and digits locked and intertwined. It’s breathing the same ragged breaths, resynchronizing two hearts to pound in time to the same metronome. It’s the cadence that sets everything right once more.

It’s the liberation of an over-encumbered soul, the breaking free from a calcified prison layered in soot and guilt. It’s the sparkle and the glitter and the shimmer left when he shapeshifts back into something recognizable, something mortal. It’s evidence that he’s still human at the core and not truly a demon…that he’s penetrable and affected, that he breathes and bleeds and needs and _loves_ , just like everyone else. It’s the reminder that that’s okay, that he shouldn’t be ashamed of his humanity or to feel.

And what he currently feels leads him to the beginning all over again, the return to the starting point—echoes of the first longing glance, the first yearning thought, the first flutter when their gazes met before shinai cracked the dojo’s suffocating tension. Because it’s been years of this and things still feel as thrilling and vibrant as they did back when everything was new.

It’s the promise that history unfolded then as it should have, and that it’s doing the same now—that fate, written as it might be in the stars, will always settle back in their favor as long as they have each other. And that brings the reassurance, the coming home, the affirmation…

It’s the effect Kondo has, when the day’s been too hard and the times too trying—when he’s got Hijikata doubled over on his back against their futon, with limber calves pressed to his broad shoulders and feet more slender than his own tossed in the air.

It’s what makes Hijikata forget the shackles of pain he’s constantly at war with, if only for a little while—forget the rivers of blood, the unending strife…the anguish, the loss, the rules and the burdens. And oh, the _remorse_ and culpability…the obligation of closing lifeless eyes which looked to him with determination and hope and certainty just hours before.

These matters all seem like distant memories here though, like impressions from some other existence being led somewhere far, far away. Because when the doors slide in and this space closes off from everything, time stops and reality skews and it’s only them: just Toshi and Isami, Isami and Toshi. It’s the closeness they share, the blending of two, an embrace that heals.

And it always starts off slow, sensual and controlled.

The patience at first is astounding. Kondo takes his time, reveling in the slip of Hijikata’s hakamashita off his shoulders, leaving a trail of kisses on freshly exposed skin, finding gratitude in every inch that’s revealed to him as he undoes ties and gently pulls garments free. He treats the unveiling of Hijikata’s body like a ceremony, employing appreciation and adoration in every move he makes—ensuring his gratitude is clear for having the privilege to freely put his hands on him.

He’s so careful to never take more than what’s being offered, to never give more than what can be accepted. Still, the unfathomable love Kondo harbors is so willingly displayed that Hijikata’s face heats from the attentions and his top teeth press down to bite his lip. His lashes fall in kind, because he’s aware that his gaze will give too much away of his inner thoughts…but it’s not as if Kondo doesn’t already know them; right before his eyes close, he catches hint of a smile pulling at the mouth adorning each of his wrists with a kiss.

Like that, Kondo remains vigilant and strategic in his ministrations—uses touch and tongue and carefully chosen word to take Hijikata apart little by little, observant to every ounce of feedback he inspires. He works his way up from eating him out (something they both enjoy perhaps a bit _too_ much) to retrieving the slick and somehow, eventually, fitting three of those large fingers inside of him. How the hell he manages to do it so masterfully without ever causing pain is a mystery for the ages, and a musing for another time.

The precursor lasts and lasts, until it’s all too much and Kondo finally kneels and lines himself up, relinquishing complete control to Hijikata and encouraging him to take his cock at the pace he’s comfortable with. On his back with his knees spread wide, Hijikata bates his breath and willingly accepts the lead. He guides the penetration and keeps his eyes open as he adjusts, staring into the intensity of Kondo’s own; they can hear each other’s thoughts like this without a single word spoken.

Kondo is a particularly proficient listener. In his peripheral vision, he must see Hijikata’s hand pulling at the bedclothes, so he covers it with his own and pulls it free. He draws it up to him, kisses the fingers and knuckles, rubs the palm in circular motions with his thumb.

“ _Toshi_ …” The name feathers out on his breath.

“Look at you, doing so well,” Kondo _doesn’t_ add, but Hijikata knows that’s exactly what’s running through his mind at this particular moment; it’s enough to have him tensing and tossing his head to the side with his cheeks alight. This kind of praise, it’s—

“Ne…hey…” Kondo braces himself over Hijikata then, presses tenderly to his cheek to coax his face back. Their lips touch once, twice, before their tongues meet and dance as their digits entwine and pull at each other. From there Kondo is buried easily to the hilt, like Hijikata’s body was designed to take him, and a shaky exhale leaves his mouth.

“Ngh, Toshi, you’re so—”

“ _Move_.” The interjection is accompanied by a reassuring lift of Hijikata’s hips and they both gasp.

Kondo huffs a laugh. “Yes, _Commander_.”

And that’s how it begins—unhurried and gentle at first, each savoring the feeling of the other and how they fit together so flawlessly, like they’ve been made specifically for this. Their eyes stay locked as the pace picks up and the ache of raw need mounts to astronomical proportion, until they’re both impatient and insatiable, panting and demanding, trading the sober calculation for drunken impulse.

Intoxication is the only thing, after all, that would have Hijikata so liberally rasping out, “ _More_.”

And Kondo doesn’t make him say it twice.

The shift is seamless. Their hands are freed and Hijikata’s legs are hauled up against Kondo’s shoulders. Kondo falls over him and in that split second, the world whites out as time becomes meaningless. Pleasure permeates the air in taste and scent, coupled by the sounds of moaning, of flesh haphazardly slapping flesh, of miscellaneous items around the space rattling.

And that’s how Hijikata goes from showing up a silent brooding mess after his patrol to clinging to his man for fuck knows _how_ long at this point, getting dicked down and pounded with ruthless abandon against the sheet. They both attempt to remain as discreet as possible, but are _probably_ too loud anyway despite that effort; in any case, these finer details Hijikata normally concerns himself with are entirely lost on him because right now, outside of this one, he’s fresh out of fucks to give.

There’s only one thing that really matters in this moment and it’s _this_ : the broken words, the broken thoughts that spill relentless over his soft staccato _ah_ ’s and _mm_ ’s…the compliments, the barrage of lavish praise describing _how amazing Toshi feels_ and _how beautiful Toshi looks_ , how Kondo could do nothing but _this_ — _him_ —forever…

Kondo never shuts the hell up when they fuck, seems to get a whole lot of gratification from his own dirty talk. As for Hijikata, even while grousing half-heartedly to knock it off, he can’t deny to himself that those tiny confessions inspire the stronger blush he feels staining across his face. And Kondo is well aware, apparently, about how much Hijikata actually does love it, because his mouth just keeps on shooting off.

Case in point: there’s a groan, dramatic but not forced, in his ear then. “So fucking _tight_ , _fuck_.”

Hijikata makes some kind of unintended sound in reply to _that_ particular vulgarity. Somewhere deep down, he has nothing but gratitude for such insightful nature, because the truth is that this sort of extolment whispers directly to his soul. It provides the validation he’d never openly admit that he needs or enjoys, fluffs up his confidence, goes directly to his head. …Or _both_ heads, because he’s on a crash course at this point.

One hand works in furious motion while the other takes strong hold of Kondo’s bicep. Hijikata’s so fucking _close_ , can feel the knot constricting in his belly and the impending euphoria growing and growing to an insufferable level. A little more…just a little longer… He grits his teeth.

And that man— _fuck it all_ —knows it, knows Hijikata’s moments away from careening straight into oblivion, because Kondo growls guttural and fervid, “Go ahead, Toshi.”

The encouragement has Hijikata’s eyes opening to meet Kondo’s and it’s pure connection—whiskey halos flecked with diamond shimmer, rife with fervor and warmth and absolute adoration, and all of it, _all of it_ , is for him. There isn’t an ounce of Kondo Isami that belongs to anyone else anywhere.

All of it, all of _him_ , is Hijikata’s.

_Go ahead, Toshi. Go ahead._

Hijikata’s mouth gapes and his concentration muddles, pleasure and urgency mounting to the critical point, the apex, the top, the _release_. His muscles tighten in anticipation, the movement of his hand going erratic.

“Kat- _cha…!_ ”

And that’s when Kondo fucking says it. “Fuck yeah, _come_ for me.”

_Boom_.

White light detonates and Hijikata’s eyes snap shut with a prolonged sob, his head falling back hard against the large hand cradling it as he slingshots clear over the bleeding edge of sanity. His hips buck as much as they can in this configuration, his hole rapidly clenching and unclenching on the cock still fucking him senseless into the mattress. Moans leave his throat whether he wills them or not, his body rebelling against those esteemed strict mental disciplines that keep him perfectly in control at all times.

…Too loud? Is he being too loud?

Somewhere far off, an intrusive thought suggests it when Kondo’s mouth covers his, but Hijikata is also too far gone to fixate on that problem, or any other for that matter. He rides out the climax with heart hammering against his ribcage and his mind quickly going dazed, with the fingertips of the hand that gripped Kondo’s arm flexing in and beginning to rake blazing scratches downward.

They’re battle scars, temporary trophies that demand Kondo wear a haori at all times to deter prying eyes and uncomfortable questions—and Kondo fucking _loves_ that, by the by, because come the next morning, they’re both sore in the best ways that keep them remembering why. And Hijikata, he’s all too pleased to oblige leaving his mark and especially like _that_ ; after all, these arms chiseled solid from years of intense training are the same ones which hold him at night and give him a place to go home to and belong in and—

Hijikata moans and trembles when the oversensitivity kicks in, and all he can do is resign to his defeat at the graces of Kondo’s affections, as if he’d ever even stood a chance. That’s a laughable thought, desiring to resist the man he desires with every fiber of his being.

And so, Hijikata just accepts it, his eyes half-lidded and his mouth parted—goes sailing in a state of half-awareness on the crest of the tide only to splash land in a realm that exists somewhere between the living world and heaven. He grasps to whatever frayed edges of rationality remain and heaves his chest full of air right from the chalice of Kat-chan’s lips…

And then it’s nothing but bliss, watching glazed-over and boneless as a perfect moment unfolds: the emotions that cross Kondo’s expression as he nears his own climax, the twitch of his brow, the flash of white when he clenches his teeth…how he embellishes Hijikata’s face with kisses and spills nonsense words over his sensitive skin. The movements become more urgent and at last, with Kondo’s own groan, the world simply fades into negligible static against the ringing in Hijikata’s ears.

The toils of the country…the victories, the miseries, the gains and the losses, the tarnished reputation of a demon vice commander, _all_ of it…it’s all disappeared with the bang that pumped new life into a universe torn down and rebuilt. It’s a universe big enough only for two at this time, a place which allows Kondo’s damp forehead to press unto Hijikata’s while he pants and gasps.

Everything is glitter and iridescence and haze—a champagne paradise. And the effervescent afterglow just burns and burns and _burns_ , without pain.

Because it’s only love.

It’s only them.

With a shiver, Kondo’s lips find Hijikata’s once more and they kiss until they’re breathless all over again.

Forever.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!! <3 Originally, there was going to be one more part for some fluffy closure, but I'm comfortable with it ending here.
> 
> Hang out with me on [tumblr](http://kondo-hijikata.tumblr.com)


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